I should put it behind me, shouldn’t I?

Did I love too loudly, speak in colors you never wanted to see? Did my hands reach too far, grasping for something you were never willing to give? Was it the way I stayed, the way I waited, the way I let my heart unfold in your silence— did that make me foolish, or just naive enough to believe you would catch me? Tell me, was it my words that pushed you away, or the weight of what they meant? Did I cross the line by wanting more than you were willing to hold? I replay the moments, soft edges turned sharp, searching for the place where I became too much, too close, too desperate to be chosen. And now, I stand alone at the edge, whispering to the ghost of what we were, wondering if I was ever meant to step inside your world— or if I was always just an outsider to your love. This version leans deeper into raw vulnerability, self-doubt, and the ache of feeling like you loved too much. Want it even more intense, or more dreamlike?

Meeting my younger self for coffee (when Im not NBM and not down with GE)

Both of us arrived 1 hour early. She sits before me, hands curled around a cup too full, spoon clinking against porcelain, stirring like she can slow time. Her eyes, wide with wonder, scan my face for secrets— for answers, for proof that the world did not break us. I want to reach across the table, trace the softness still in her bones, tell her not to give it all away. But she is glowing, bright with a hope that is so shining. “Do we make it?” she asks, voice light as steam rising, and I laugh, soft and knowing. “We do. In ways you wouldn’t expect.” She exhales relief, unaware of the storms she will carry, the names she will whisper like prayers before learning to let go. I sip my coffee, watching her, memorizing the version of myself who still believes love is forever, who does not flinch at the word goodbye. I could warn her. I could tell her about the nights we unravel, the doors that close too soon, the hands that slip away. But she does not need my grief— not yet. So I smile, tuck the ache between sips, and let her dream a little longer. ◡̈

A conversation with myself

Will u notice if I am gone? I could disappear today, fade into the quiet, let the wind carry mi name away— and would u even notice? You used to send me hearts, like breadcrumbs leading me back to uuu, small, warm proofs that I mattered. But now, ur words come in fragments, cold, distant, careful. Is this how u leave? Not in a storm, not with final words, but in silence, slow, steady, unnoticed— like a tide retreating while I stand still. If I stop reaching out, will uuu reach back? Or will uuu breathe easier, relieved that I stopped trying? I fear that if I let go, u will too. But maybe u already have, and I’m the only one left here...

Was the high worth the pain?

I touched the sky with borrowed wings, Drunk on dreams and blingbling things. Laughter spilled like falling rain, Never thinking of the pain The warmth, the heights and whispered nights, A world aglow in fleeting lights. But stars that burn too bright must fade, And love once soft can turn to shade ur words grew sharp, ur touch turned cold, A story left hanging and left half-told. I reached for warmth, was met with frost— A promise lost, a debt unpaid Was the high worth all the fall? The sweetest high, the hardest wall? Perhaps the past was made of glass, Meant to shatter, not meant to last. And though the echoes still remain, I ask no more as it still rains— Perhaps in dreams, I’ll feel that glow But waking now- I feel you go